


I Need You So Much Closer

by ayoungrat



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 3x06, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:34:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayoungrat/pseuds/ayoungrat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during 3x06. Chapter 4 is Non-Con.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hopelessly Fucked

         Mickey stared at the two men on the television screen, stroking his hard cock slowly, taking his time. No one was home and Ian was still at work – Mickey had gotten off a couple hours before him – so he figured it was as good a time as any to search through the shoe box under his bed that housed several DVDs he'd stolen over the years and have some _"afternoon delight."_ At the bottom of the pile was a blank disc he hadn't seen in a while. Well, he hadn't seen _any_ of them in a while since Ian kept him satisfied to the point where jerking off to some man-on-man porn almost felt foreign.         

         _Somehow,_ he managed to persist.  

         While playing the voyeur, Mickey couldn't help but admire the position these two lean, young guys were in and he kicked himself for immediately picturing him and that stupid ginger in the same position.

           With an idea in his head, Mickey bit his lip almost nervously as he released the grip on his wood and reached for his cellphone. He searched for Gallagher's number, a simple _'G'_ marked in his contact list and texted the redhead.

           Mick: _**'No one's gonna be here tonight.'**_ Mickey never did confirm whether or not Ian was still invited over after the _'Was I just invited to a sleepover?'_ comment, just as Ian had never confirmed whether or not he actually wanted to partake in said sleepover. Mickey waited anxiously for a reply, his face lighting up when his cellphone vibrated in his hand.

           G: **_'Yeah?'_**

           Mick: _ **'Come over at 10?'**_

         G: _**'Sure. I just got some good shit from Kev this morning. I really want you to try it.'**_

 _Mick: **'Cool. Oh hey bring some water over. I'm almost out.'**_   They both knew that _"water"_   was code for lube.

           G: **_'Cherry flavored? ; )'_**   Ian couldn't help but tease about Mickey's love for fruity flavored lubericant ever since he found out about it.  

         Mick: ** _'Fuck you.'_**

         Ian smirked and was about to close his phone when he received  

        Mick: **_'…but yeah.'_**  
  
          It's 10:15, the same night. Ian hasn't shown up yet and Mickey's rolling his eyes at himself for even noticing. He's only 15 minutes late, why should he give a shit? And there's no way he slightly jogged toward the door when he heard a knock a few minutes later. 

            "Sorry I'm late," Ian apologizes genuinely, breathing a little heavy for having ran all the way over from the Kash and Grab. He went there after leaving the home because he'd forgotten to get what Mickey asked for. "Asshole at the home took forever with night checks, and I had to run to the store," he says as he walks into the house, dropping his backpack by the front door.  

          "Chill the fuck out, faggot" Mickey barks without any real venom, smirking at how paranoid Ian was of upsetting him. "Mandy got food the other day," Mickey walks backward toward the kitchen, "D'ya eat?"  

          "No," Ian replies nonchalantly, trying not to smile at how domestic Mickey is being, "but I'm fine if the food is for you and your brothers."

            "Nah, man," Mickey shrugs casually, knowing damn well that Iggy said not to finish off the pizza rolls in the freezer, "it's cool."  

          Ian follows Mickey into the kitchen and cracks open the beer he's offered moments later.  
 

          They have their dinner and silently watch _'Under Siege,'_ sharing cigarettes and sucking down several beers. But Mickey can't stop thinking about the porn he watched earlier, and he can't stop thinking about recreating what he saw preformed. He feels nervous around Ian right now, knowing that the redhead probably thinks this is a date.

            And Gallagher's not entirely wrong.

            Mickey can't seem to relax, biting his lip and looking around the room constantly. He begins to fidget as his brain swells with dirty thoughts and urges. He can't think straight, trying to focus on something that doesn't involve lunging toward Ian like a snake catching it's dinner.

            Finally he nudges Ian's shoulder with the back of his fist, having found a clear thought. "Hey, didn't you bring weed or something?" He asks, rubbing his eye and trying to control his lust-filled brain.  

          "Oh right!" Ian exclaims, bumping the heel of his hand against his forehead, unaware of the war Mickey's having with himself in his head. He lifts himself from the couch and makes his way to his backpack, bending over at the hips, his beautiful ass displayed like fine art in front of Mickey.

            The older boy averts his gaze only for a moment before fixating his eyes on Ian and licking his top lip, hungry, his cock twitching in his pants.

            Ian walks back to the couch and sits down holding a little baggy of weed, a small pipe and a lighter. The movie's still playing in the background when he closes his knees and begins packing the bowl on top of them. "Yea, Kev said this shit is prem-o," Ian says, holding the bowl in one hand and placing the remaining weed on the table. "S'posed to make sex feel better than when you're on the usual shit."  

          That is definitely not what Mickey needs to hear. He swallows hard and his hand almost trembles when Ian offers him the orange pipe. "Yeah, alright," he says sarcastically, doubting that Kev was telling the truth.

            They take turns having hits and laughing at the movie while their eyes start to feel fuzzy, a warm sensation radiating throughout their bodies and time feels like it's moving just slow enough to notice but you feel too good to care. 

         "Damn," Mickey breathes out after something like fifteen minutes, "this is some good shit, Gallagher." Ian glances over at Mickey, clearly feeling what the older boy is and nods with a half-smile.  

         Ironically, Ian is the one to initiate contact. Still looking at the television, the redhead reaches his arm toward Mickey, wrapping a hand around his neck and moving closer before smashing their lips together. It's the second time they've kissed and it's different than the first time, with tongues and teeth and Ian firmly caressing Mickey's jaw with both hands, keeping him exactly where he wants him. This time, Mickey doesn't get to run off and get shot in the ass.

         They make out for a few minutes, hands roaming and pulling off shirts; erections growing and quiet moans filling the space between them. Ian moves to straddle Mickey and begins grinding their crotches together, arching his back and still keeping a death grip on Mickey's jaw. Needing oxygen, Mickey pushes on Ian's chest and breaks the kiss. Both sets of their eyes are heavy with a combination of weed and lust, their pupils blown wide and a stupid grin takes over Ian's face. Mickey's breathing heavy, mustering up the courage to talk. "I wanna try something."

          Ian raises his brows, automatically intrigued since Mickey almost never wants to try anything. "Oh yeah?" Mickey nods, nudging Ian's thighs so he'll get off of him. Ian stands up and follows Mickey to his room, smirking; he has no idea what's going on in this boy's head right now. They leave the television on, the movie still playing behind them.

          When they reach the door, Mickey turns around and plants another quick peck on Ian's soft lips, pulling him by his forearms into the bedroom. He knows he's acting like a total queer, but luckily this weed will be the perfect excuse if Ian ever asks about it later… which he won't.

          Ian undoes his belt and pulls his tight jeans off as well as his boxers; Mickey follows suit. He's unsure if he should show the DVD to Ian or just explain how the position works without using it's cringe-worthy name. Instead, he decides on simply gripping Ian by the arms and backing him onto the bed, pushing down on his shoulders so the redhead will lean back on the headboard.

        Mickey walks over to his dresser and pulls open the top drawer, searching until he remembers he's out of lube and that he asked Ian to bring some over. "Where is it?" Mickey sort of slurs, the weed effecting his speech slightly.

        "Hmm?" Ian replies, unsure of what _'it'_   is.  

      "Lube?" No need for code words in the privacy of his own bedroom.  

      "Backpack… out there," Ian points to the bedroom door. Mickey leaves the room and Ian can hear the zipper of his bag being undone.  

      Mickey strolls back into the room and looks at the label on the bottle of lube: cherry flavored.  

     "Right kind?" Mickey didn't know that Ian was staring at him with a smug smile.

        Mickey's too high, too horny and – whether he's aware of it or not – too in love to deny that he enjoys a nice flavored lube. Instead, he snorts and smiles in appreciation for Ian remembering what he likes.

        Mickey shuts the bedroom door and walks back over to Ian, crawling between his legs and spreading them wider for easier access. He squirts a small amount of lube on the head of Ian's big cock. He slicks up Ian's length then licks his sticky fingertips, leaving some for Ian before he slides his hand up to the redhead's lips. Ian pulls Mickey's middle finger deep into his mouth so his lips are covering the letter _'C'_   tattooed on his knuckle; enjoying the combination of sweet lube and Mickey's skin on his tongue.  

     Mickey slides his finger out of Ian's mouth and moves his hand down Ian's torso. He aims Ian's boner toward the ceiling with his hand, licking a sloppy stripe up the underside of his cock. Ian smiles down at Mickey, who's staring right back through his pretty eyelashes and kissing the head of his dick. Mickey cradles Ian's balls with one hand while he starts sucking down his length, further and further, eventually going all the way to the base with every throat-full of the redhead's meat; his fiery pubes tickling the tip of his nose.

       Once Ian's achieved maximum chub, Mickey pulls off of his cock and stands up off the bed. With Ian's legs still spread wide and his knees bent, Mickey turns around and seats himself on the redhead's lower torso, his back pressing into Ian's chest; they're both facing the wall across from Mickey's bed. Propping himself up on one hand behind him on the bed, Mickey wraps his other hand around Ian's neck for support.

         It's a slight variation of the hideously known _'reserve cowgirl.'_

      "Oh, _this_ one," Ian whispers with a smirk, recognizing the position. He's never done this one before, but he's seen it plenty of times in porn.

       Mickey doesn't respond while he waits, biting his lip at the ache of his hard on. Ian reaches under Mickey's thigh and grabs hold of his own slicked cock while Mickey presses his feet flat onto the mattress and slightly lifts his hips. Ian guides himself inside the Milkovich boy, slowly but with force since he knows Mickey enjoys it. As expected, Mickey gasps out something between and moan and a whine, his eyes closed as his expression is facing the ceiling.  

       Ian pushes off the mattress, snapping his hips upward into a deep, powerful thrust after removing his arm from under Mickey's thigh; now holding the older boy's upper torso, his fingers curved around the side of his chest in a light caress, the pads of his long fingers rubbing against Mickey's nipple.

         Their lips are only an inch apart while Ian delivers deep, drawn out thrusts inside Mickey while the hoodlum lets desperate moans float from his mouth into Ian's.

         They're sounds that rest perfectly on Ian's sweet tongue and vibrate soothingly against his teeth.

         With the hand that isn't holding Mickey's body in place, Ian curls his fingers around the older boy's thigh, spreading his legs just a little bit wider while digging his short nails into the muscle there.

         Mickey's body lies on top of Ian's, his upper torso veering to the side so that he can comfortably turn his head to face the redhead. Still holding onto Ian's neck, Mickey pulls the younger boy towards him and closes the gap between their mouths. Mickey's tongue is hot and syrupy as it plays inside Ian's mouth. 

        Ian's pace is steady, his hand moving from Mickey's thigh to his hip, to his side and back down to his thigh. Ian can't help but be aware of how affectionate Mickey is allowing him to be while they grunt and groan and move in sync with each other's bodies.  

       While they kiss and breathe each other's air, Ian's pace quickens, pressing the head of his cock into Mickey's prostate. Mickey releases a raspy, surprised gasp into Ian's open mouth, his breath getting faster as they both get close to their orgasms.

         Mickey's not a religious person, but right now he's thanking whatever's out there for this immense pleasure and undeniable feeling of absolute serenity with Gallagher.

         Maybe he should thank the weed for making him feel this way right now.  

       Or maybe he should thank Ian for making him feel this way all the time, whether or not he's willing to admit it.  

       Ian moves to fully carry Mickey's weight so the older boy can use his propped hand to stroke himself into near oblivion. His lips still ghosting over Ian's mouth, Mickey strokes a little slower than usual, drawing out his crippling orgasm as his thick load of cum spills down his cock and drips onto Ian's balls like a volcano. "Oh my god," Mickey stutters against Ian's lips, the loud sound of his heavy gasps for air roaring in the redhead's ears, his chest pounding as Ian keeps thrusting into his sensitive prostate.

         The tight, stuck feeling of Mickey's contracting hole sets Ian's skin on fire; he quickly releases Mickey's thigh and pulls out of his body, no need or time to jerk himself off as him cum flows like a short-lived fountain, his seed landing on Mickey's cock as well as his thigh and the sheets beneath. Mickey lifts his hips again, somehow knowing that Ian wants to rub his sticky cock along the crack of his ass. The redhead does so, their bodies still rocking slowly, extending their pleasure until their muscles ache from the tension.         

        Exhausted, Mickey turns over and flops himself onto Ian, the younger boy's heartbeat thumping throughout his chest. Ian wraps his legs around the back of Mickey's knees, pulling him closer as Mickey bends his elbows and rests his hands on Ian's sides. He drops his sweaty forehead onto Ian's shoulder, panting loudly before lifting his head to see Ian's sleepy, flushed face smiling lazily at him.    

        The words _'Goddamn it, I'm so in love with you'_ are written all over Gallagher's beautiful face.

          When Mickey assumes – correctly – that the same words must be spelled out in his own sleepy grin, he intentionally frowns and averts his eyes to Ian's collarbone, casually banging his fist on the redhead's chest once. He begins to feel like he can't breathe. Ian's smile dissolves as he looks away from Mickey, blinking away the older boy's feigned indifference but still showing disappointment.  

        "I gotta…" Mickey mumbles, trying to think of an excuse to get away from Ian, "I gotta take a piss."  

        Ian doesn't respond as Mickey shifts off of him and makes his way to the bathroom. He merely scoffs when he hears the door close behind Mickey, feeling used. He should be use to it by now, but lately, Ian's feelings have been developing rapidly and his heart can't keep up with Mickey's need to maintain such distance.

          Yet another moment ruined by Mickey's pride, Ian thinks with a snort, shifting to get off the bed.  

        He picks up his clothes and heads to the living room to sleep on the couch. _'Who the fuck are you kidding?'_ Ian thinks as he flops his naked body onto the stiff, uncomfortable sofa. Luckily, the weed still in his system aids the redhead in drifting off to sleep.

          Meanwhile, Mickey's in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub. "Oh shit," he doesn't mean to whisper out loud, wiping his mouth with his still slightly sticky palm. His mind is racing and his heart should be stilling after his orgasm, but it's beating faster than ever as Mickey comes to the realization.  

        The realization that, not only is Mickey Milkovich in love with Ian Gallagher, but that he's probably been in love with this fuckhead for a while and just hasn't realized it till now.  

        Mickey's eyes widen at this sudden moment of clarity, shifting around to every surface of the bathroom. He rises to his feet and stands in front of the mirror. His jaw is tense, nostrils flared and brow furrowed, a look of fear and disappoint in himself staring back at him.  

        Milkovich men don't feel romantic love, especially for other men.

          He'd been staring at himself for a good ten minutes before noticing an almost haunting silence in the next room. Mickey opens the bathroom door and walks into his bedroom; his bed is empty and Ian's clothes are off the floor. Confused, Mickey walks quietly into the living room. The only light in the room is from the street lamps outside as he glides over to the couch.  

        Mickey stands still for a bit, watching Ian sleep. The dumbass soldier boy looks so beautiful right now. Mickey sits on the edge of the coffee table, Ian has his back turned, his front facing the back of the couch. All Mickey wants to do is lie with him and they can wrap their arms around each other and kiss until they fall asleep; maybe wake up in a few hours and fuck again. But Mickey also wants to punch himself in the face for wanting such things.  

        It's a chilly night and Ian is naked with no covers as he lightly snores in his sleep, shivering. Mickey wants to lay himself over Ian like a blanket and keep him warm. He wants to nudge the fucker awake and say _'I love you'_ and run his hands over Gallagher's freckles. His excuse for not doing so is that Ian looks so peaceful in his sleep and shouldn't be disturbed. That excuse in itself makes him want to kick his own ass. Maybe he'll tell Ian how he feels in the morning over bowls of cheap, off-brand cereal. Maybe he'll tell him tomorrow after work while they share a cigarette at the place where Ian practices his ROTC drills.

          Or maybe he won't tell him at all.

          Mickey's eyes become sad and heavy when he stands up, feeling the familiar weight of society and the words of his father on his shoulders. It's a crushing weight that is sure to send Mickey collapsing in on himself eventually.

          Before heading back to his room, Mickey walks behind the couch; he lifts the tacky quilt that lies on the back of the sofa and lets it cascade onto the redhead's body, knowing how hopelessly fucked he is from now on.  



	2. Don't You Want Me To?

    Mickey lays in bed, the covers draped just above his hips while his stomach is in knots, his mind racing with questions.  
  
     _Do I act like nothing's changed? Do I stop fucking him? Do I ignore him?_  
  
 _Do I tell him?_  
  
    His thoughts are interrupted by the sudden urge to touch Ian, at which point he knows he's in deep shit.  
  
    A need to have Ian's warm, freckled flesh against his? A need for the sensation of Ian's hot breath on his skin? A need to hear Gallagher's heartbeat nearby?  
  
    Absurd… yet familiar and relentless, Mickey thinks with a heavy sigh.  
  
    He rolls over onto his side and faces the posters on his wall. One poster in particular seems to mock him; the one that so subtly displays a half naked broad with huge tits and a cumwhore grin failing to seduce him. Mickey rolls his eyes at the bitch's smile and flips over onto his other side. His bedroom door taunts him, begging him to walk over and turn the knob; begging him to go into the living room and wake up the redhead - or at least stare at him with tormented eyes while the younger boy sleeps.  
  
    "Fuck," Mickey mutters to himself as he tears away the blanket and sits upright, the cold, hard-wooden floor making his feet twitch. He rests his elbows on his knees, his index fingers pressed against his frowning lips and his thumbs curled under his chin. Mickey shuts his eyes tight and prays for the feeling to go away; this merciless, aching feeling. Like an elephant stepping on his chest and laughing at the sky. This can't be happening. He can't be in love with Ian Gallagher. He can't be in love with a man.  
  
    …Mickey Milkovich can't be in love at all.  
  
    The older boy sighs against his fingers, feeling defeated by his impulses and reluctantly stands up. He walks hesitantly towards his bedroom door, his stuttered movements suggesting he's being dragged by ghost to his execution. Mickey grips his hand tight around the doorknob and shuts his eyes for a moment. "Shit," he whispers and takes a deep breathe before turning the knob. He silently walks toward the couch and his breathing stops when he sees Ian Gallagher lying on his stomach, resting the side of his face on his folded arms.  
      
    He gazes at the redhead with a certain misery present on his face.  
  
    Mickey's been told his whole life that what he's feeling is wrong. It's sinful and it's shameful and it should never be tolerated.  
  
    He stares at Ian sleeping, drooling on his arm and lightly snoring. Mickey thinks he might melt at the sight.  
  
     _'Are you fucking kidding me?_ ' He thinks, glancing up at the ceiling, towards God and his cruelty.  
  
    He readjusts his shoulders, to appear more masculine, and perks his lips up in a fake sneer before nudging the redhead awake. Ian doesn't respond until the third or fourth nudge, scrunching his face and lifting his heavy head from his arms.  
  
    "Mmm… what?" Ian murmurs like a sleepy child, rubbing a hand over his face.  
  
    Mickey clears his throat, standing over Ian and staring almost disapprovingly at him. "What're you doin' out here?" He asks and delivers a yawn as if he just woke up.  
  
    "Sleeping," it sounds more like a question as Ian's eye search for Mickey's permission to do so.  
  
    "On the couch?"  
  
    Ian's brows are furrowed with absolute confusion. He looks over his shoulder at his body resting on the sofa before glancing back up at Mickey. "Don't you want me to?"  
  
    Mickey can't help but feel shame and guilt for making Ian feel so uninvited - even if that was his intention before. He makes a step toward his bedroom and casually replies, "C'mon, just sleep in here."  
  
    "What- why?" Ian replies. He hasn't the slightest idea of why Mickey's being this way right now.  
  
    Mickey scrambles for an answer as he heads towards his bedroom door. "I… I don't want you bitchin' and moanin' in my ear at work tomorrow about how badly you slept," he finally replies, trying his best to sound like a complete jerk. "Plus… maybe I wanna fuck you again."  
  
    Mickey's feigned nonchalance works; Ian yawns and pulls himself up off the couch and follows the older boy to his bed. Mickey slips under the covers and lays on his back. Ian stands next to the mattress, groggy-eyed. Mickey smirks and nods toward the empty space in his bed. Ian shrugs and moves to lay next to him. Mickey adjusts himself against the wall so he and Gallagher aren't touching. Ian lays on his back and drapes his long arms over his own stomach. Mickey turns away and lays on his side, facing the wall.  
  
    "What? No goodnight kiss?" Ian jokes in a sleepy voice, his eyes closed and a lazy grin spreading across his face.  
  
    "Fuck off," Mickey replies with much more venom in his voice than intended; even he can hear how harsh he's being.  
  
    Ian simply snorts and smiles wider; Mickey's tone is all too familiar now. "Relax, shithead, I was just fuckin' with you."  
  
    Mickey feels even worse. _'Why am I like that with him?'_ He thinks, and then wants to kick is own ass for having the thought. He twists his body to look at Ian, his eyes closed and his body fully rested but he isn't asleep yet.  
  
    He's beautiful.  
  
     _'Fuck it,'_ Mickey thinks, fully turning onto his other side. He hesitates, his hands and ready lips frozen in mid-air. Ian can feel a hovering sensation but assumes it's probably nothing and keeps his eyes shut. _'God, just do it,'_ Mickey orders himself; even the voice in his head sounds desperate and annoyed.  
  
    All it takes for Mickey is when Ian tilts his dreamy face toward him, looking peaceful as ever and Mickey presses their lips together. His hand snakes around Ian's neck and the redhead's too tired for his reaction to be anything other than a content hum against Mickey's lips. The older boy pulls his bottom lip away and lets out a stuttered, nervous breath into Ian's mouth, his chest pressed against the younger boy's ribs.  
  
    "Mmm… too tired- can't go again," Ian murmurs upon breaking the kiss.  
  
    "Shut the fuck up," Mickey whispers and plants an even deeper kiss onto Ian's soft lips. Their mouths are still fused together, eyes closed as Mickey moves to lay on top of Ian's body, spreading his legs to lay comfortably, now caressing Ian's jaw with his other hand. Ian curls a hand over Mickey's thigh and grasps the back of Mickey's head with the other. He pulls the boy closer then drops his hand on the bed, sighing blissfully.  
  
    Mickey pulls off for a moment and moves up slightly to bracket Ian's head with his arms, dipping back down into the kiss, tilting his head from side to side every few moments.  
  
    The kiss remains passionate and possessive without the need for tongues or teeth.  
  
    The ownership is present in Mickey's slow and steady pace, his lips colliding gently with Ian's for what seems like forever, an endless rhythm of kissing sounds and light breaths filling the room.  
  
    Mickey only pulls away when Ian's lips stop moving and his hand on the older boy's thigh has fallen to the bed. He lifts his head to see that Ian's fallen asleep beneath him, lips parted and breathing lightly through his nose. Mickey snorts in despair as he admires Ian's serene face, counting a handful of freckles on his cheeks.  
  
    Mickey moves his body off of Ian and re-adjusts himself onto his side and faces the wall again. A moment passes before he feels Ian move in his sleep; the redhead shifts lower on the bed, turning his head to the side and gently pressing his forehead against Mickey's upper back.  
  
    Mickey clenches his jaw upon feeling Ian's touch, his eyes fluttering closed, although he doesn't move away. The pesky love in his heart is just as present as the panic in his stomach.  
  



	3. I Need To Tell You Something

    The phone rings.  
  
    The phone rings again.  
  
    The phone rings a third time.  
  
    It takes another three rings before Mickey's had enough. He throws the covers off him and walks out into the living room. He rummages through Ian's backpack next to the door, pulling out a pair of Ian's boxers and dropping them on the floor as well as his toothbrush and a pair of socks before finally getting ahold of the redhead's phone.  
  
    He answers, "Jesus- what?!" and immediately covers his mouth with his hand when he realizes it could be anyone on the other end. Lip? Frank? _Mandy?_  
  
    Mickey's heart races at the thought of it being his sister. God only knows how she'd react to hearing her brother's voice coming from Ian's number.  
  
    "Ian? Where the hell are you?! You were supposed to be here at 9:30; it's 10…"  
  
    Mickey's heart settles and he breathes a sigh of major relief as he hears Linda ramble her face off about how late Ian is for work. "Christ, Linda! Don't get your fuckin' turban in a wad," He interrupts, standing up and walking back towards his room.  
  
    "Mickey? Is that you? You're both late! I want your asses here _right_ now…"  
  
    Mickey ignores Linda as he climbs on top of Ian and straddles his hips. The redhead shifts in his sleep. Linda continues jabbering at herself when Mickey slaps Ian's face with moderate force. "Hey, fuckhead, get up," He demands casually, not moving off of Ian. The redhead jostles awake and stares startled at Mickey. " _Towel Head's_ havin' a fit," Mickey adds, handing Ian the phone.  
  
    Ian rubs his sore cheek and answers the call, his voice is raspy and tired. "Yea… okay… I didn't have my alarm… no… no… yes… yeah, I know your husband ran off, Linda," Ian talks to _"the eye in the sky"_ as Mickey waits patiently, slowly shimmying down Ian's body, a devilish, smug look spreading across his face.  
  
    Ian continues on the phone while Mickey rests his chin on the redhead's sternum, growing less patient. After what seems like an eternity of hearing Ian be a total pussy, Mickey becomes irritated and applies a small, yet effective bite to one of Ian's nipples.  
  
    "Ow! Fuck!" Ian yelps. "What? No I'm fine," he reassures Linda, slapping the back of Mickey's head; the older boy responds with a mere lick to the corner of his mouth and bites his lower lip. _'The fuck is wrong with you?'_ Ian mouths, glaring down at Mickey. ''Yeah, look- I'll be there as soon as I can… bye" Ian says, flips his phone closed and looks back down at Mickey. "You asshole!" Ian shouts, rubbing his tender nipple.  
  
    "You say that like it's a bad thing," Mickey smirks in monotone. Ian rolls his eyes as Mickey climbs off of him. Ian sits up, yawns and scratches at his ribs; Mickey tries not to stare.  
  
    "Hey, um, thanks for letting me stay over," Ian says, standing up and trying to catch his balance. He doesn't want to seem too enthusiastic.  
  
    "Yeah, man," Mickey replies casually, lightly punching Ian's arm.  
  
    Ian heads to the living room and plops himself on the couch, rubbing his tired eyes while Mickey stays in his room for several minutes. Ian isn't sure if he should get dressed and leave or wait for Mickey to come out and say goodbye.  
  
    Meanwhile, Mickey stares unsure at the string of anal beads he's just pulled out from under his mattress. It's a string of roughly fifteen black, slightly-larger-than-golfball sized beads about an inch and a half apart. He wonders if being kinky will somehow make Ian forget about how awkward last night was.  
  
    It's worth a shot.  
  
    The Milkovich boy saunters out through the kitchen into the living room. He sees Ian sitting on the sofa and immediately has to take a few deep breathes to settle his nerves.  
  
    "Alright, I gotta get to work," the redhead states, moving to stand up as Mickey walks closer to him.  
  
    "Alright, just… in a minute, okay?" Mickey replies now standing in front of Ian, raising the beads in his hand as if  to present them at an auction. "Wanna do the honors?"  
  
    Ian takes the string of beads from Mickey and holds them up with two hands, inspecting them. "Is that a rosary for giants?" He asks, holding the beads against Mickey's chest like a necklace. "Huh?"  
  
    Mickey grins, slightly embarrassed and laughs. "No... nah, man," he replies as Ian pulls the beads away from his chest. Mickey sheepishly looks down at the beads. "They're, uh, they're Ben Wa beads." Mickey glances up at Ian and realizes the redhead still isn't aware of what he's talk about. "You shove em in my ass and you pull em out real slow…"  
  
    Ian gasps, but then realizes that's probably not the reaction he should give and tries to make light of the situation without actually having to use the beads on Mickey. "How is that fun for me?" He smirks, dropping the beads onto the floor. He feels bad for not wanting to participate, so he figures a quick bang on the couch should suffice.  
  
    Linda will surely have his ass for being so late but… fuck it.  
  
    "Come on…" Mickey grins, not surprised by Ian's decline as the redhead gives him a loud smack on his back and moves behind him, lightly nudging the older boy onto the couch. "Alright, okay," Mickey laughs, kneeling on the couch and making himself comfortable, readjusting the pillows against his chest. "Just easy on the injured cheek, okay?"  
  
    "I'll just go on the other one, alright? Relax." Ian assures, kicking the beads away and lining himself up with Mickey.  
  
    "Yeah… yeah" Mickey snorts - as if to say _'damn right, you will.'_  
  
    No preparation needed as Ian places one hand on Mickey's shoulder and uses the other to guide himself inside in one slow thrust. Mickey's brows furrow and he bites his lips when he feels the pressure and suddenly something switches in his brain.  
  
    The feeling of Gallagher inside him, filling him up and making him feel a sense of safety provides a revelation and in that moment, Mickey feels the absolute need to tell Ian the truth about how he feels; the love in his heart and the euphoria in his skin finally rising above the panic and the fear.  
  
    In one split-second, everything becomes clear.  
  
    Ian delivers another deep thrust as the words form in Mickey's mouth; the words _'I need to tell you something'_ on the tip of his tongue as he hisses in pleasure. Mickey parts his lips and his heartbeat rises as he readies himself to make his confession before…  
  
    … the click of the front door opening fills the room as well as the sunlight spilling onto the floor as a large, grotesque figure appears in the room.


	4. And Now You Understand

    The room is dead silent before Mickey's father stands in the corner of the living room and lights a cigarette while all three of them wait for 'the Russian' to arrive.

      Mickey sits lazily on the couch in Ian's boxers from the night before, weak, with fluttering vision as bruises bloom from his once child-like skin, throbbing under trails of drying blood. Ian sits upright on the adjacent recliner, his back straight, elbows resting on his knees and his hands cupped loosely over his bloody nose. Terry only manages a few drags before there's a soft knock at the door. He strolls over and turns open the knob.

      Ian takes a deep, trembling breath, thinking of his family and the good memories he's had, waiting to meet his killer.  

    A look of shock and confusion take over his face when a thin, pale woman enters the room with slumped shoulders and a look of almost _deja vu_ beneath her heavy makeup, paired with her eggplant tube dress and black strappy heels.

      Mickey's gaze toward her, however, is that of relief; relief that she isn't a large, burly man who's come to brutally slaughter Ian, chop him up and throw him away like rotten meat.

      "That one," the monster says, pointing towards Mickey as the woman walks closer; he steps behind the couch and leans over his son. "She's gonna fuck the faggot out of you, kid," he assures the boy. The woman in purple towers over Mickey with dead eyes and no trace of real sympathy in her glance. "Ride him till he likes it, Suka."  

    Terry ogles and takes another long drag as the _'vision of beauty'_ quickly lifts her dress over her head and drops it at Ian's feet. Mickey's straining eyes focus on her sallow face, unable to look at her body, knowing full well her breasts and soft curves won't arouse him.  

    "And you're goddamn gonna watch," Terry insists, pointing at Ian with a smoldering glare as the woman soundlessly bends over to hook her boney fingers into the waistband of Mickey's boxers and pull them off, the boy wincing in pain from the sudden movement.      Mickey gives the redhead a quick glance as the woman moves to straddle the older boy and mount him. Ian lifts his tearful eyes with heavy heart to see the whole painful image; a look of undeserved guilt is apparent on his own battered face. 

     Mickey becomes hard, purely out of physical contact, as the prostitute guides him inside herself. Her hands are fairly gentle, minding the boy's bruises as she splays her fingers out on his bare chest and begins riding slowly. Terry, the man who should be doing all he can to protect his child from such horrors, walks over to a chair on the other side of the room and sits down, observing the Russian's handiwork. 

     Feeling powerless and more naked than ever, Mickey fixates his eyes on Ian's face, a look of _'…and now you understand…'_ on his own as the rest of the room fades away while he focuses on the redhead's beautiful eyes. Ian seems to hide himself behind his knuckles pressed against his quivering lips as he can't bare the sight anymore and averts his gaze to the floor, stifling his tears.

      Mickey's eyes linger before they fill with humiliation as well as a crippling bitterness. _'I'm doing this for us, for you, and you can't even look at me?'_ He thinks, a flash of rage and a hunger for control growing inside him as he lifts up to reach his arm around the woman's slender waist. Upon forcing her back onto the couch, Mickey presses his hand upward into her back and pulls her lower on the cushions. She wraps her legs around his waist, locking her ankles together as the boy makes a great effort to keep their torsos as far apart as possible.

      Ian doesn't look up as Mickey begins delivering deep, rough thrusts inside the Russian, squeezing his fist tight. Mickey shuts his eyes and tries not to imagine the younger boy, but fails. His face is throbbing, the only thing keeping him hard enough to possibly finish are visions of the redhead; touching him, tasting him, loving him. Mickey thinks that if he prays hard enough and keeps his thoughts clear he'll open his eyes and see Ian underneath him, reaching his hand to curl around Mickey's neck and pull him into a kiss, smiling against his lips while their heavy breaths sync up in ecstasy.

      He opens his eyes once, but all Mickey sees is the woman in purple staring back at him, no expression on her face. His thrusts become weaker and slower as the ache in his head becomes stronger and merciless. Failing to persevere, Mickey collapses on top of the prostitute, panting against her chest. "I can't…" he whimpers, barely able to lift his head.

      Terry rises from his seat and charges toward him. He kneels beside the couch and grips Mickey's jaw, hard, swiftly turning his head to face him. Mickey reaches a hand to curl around Terry's wrist as he begins to sob from the pain and exhaustion.  

    All Ian sees is an abused child, reaching out to his father for relent.

      Terry looks Mickey in the eye. "You finish," he commands in a stern, quite voice, ignoring the boy's tears and his sniffling. He gives his jaw a final squeezes before releasing his grip and slapping Mickey's face back towards the woman. Ian only lifts his face to follow the monster as he walks back to his throne and makes himself comfortable again.

      Ian finally glances at Mickey as the older boy's shaky arms try to lift himself up but he's too weak and he falls again. Fat tears fall down the redhead's cheeks and he releases a shuddered breath, unintentionally loud enough for Mickey to hear. Mickey lifts himself just enough to slide up upward and lay his full weight onto the Russian, bracketing her head with his arms, remembering being in the same position the night before.

    Only it was with Ian. 

     Mickey begins thrusting again, his mouth unfortunately hovering over the woman's as she wraps her legs tighter around his waist and pulls him deeper as if to try and help the kid out. Mickey keeps his eyes closed and concentrates on finishing, sucking his lips between his teeth on the off chance their faces touch.

      Mickey finally comes, releasing a reluctant, chocked out moan towards the whore's face. Ian clenches his jaw tight and closes his eyes, the sound of Mickey now gasping for air is hard to hear.  

    Mickey makes little effort to hold himself up as the woman squirms her way out from underneath him and stands up. She silently bends over in front of Ian and collects her dress from the floor. They make eye contact as she rises back to her feet and all Ian can think while he scowls at her is _'So, that's why your eyes are so dead.'_

      Mickey lays boneless on his stomach, still breathing heavy and wincing every time his face brushes against the rough fabric of the couch. The Russian slips her dress back on and walks over to Terry. He pulls a folded $50 bill from his pocket and places it calmly in her waiting hand. He lights another cigarette, takes a drag and casual says "Get out," not giving her a single glance.

      She leaves without making a sound and the room is now filled with such tension you could choke on it.

      Terry stands and walks over to his son, gripping his arm and helping him off the couch. "C'mon, get up," he says blankly, patting Mickey on the shoulder. "Go sleep it off." Terry turns back to face Ian when his foot hits something poking out from under the couch and it makes a strange rattling noise. Mickey's already dragged himself back to bed when his father bends down and picks up the black beads from before.

      Old enough to know what they're used for, Terry holds the string of beads in front of Ian and quickly turns his head towards Mickey's bedroom. "The fuck?" He questions, not loud enough for Mickey to hear.

      Ian's brain scrambles, terrified that Mickey's father will punish him again for finding his sex toy. "They're mine," the redhead insists, "I… I tried to get him to… let me use them on him…"

      Terry turns to Ian and glares like he wants eat him alive. Ian's breath trembles as he readies himself to be beaten again. However, Terry merely turns up his face in a look of utter disgust and throws the beads toward the redhead who catches them against his chest. "Take em with you, ya fuckin' pervert."  

    Ian frowns and gives a slight nod, averting his gaze as Terry turns around and heads toward the kitchen and out the back door. The redhead quickly gets dressed and stuffs everything - including Mickey's beads - into his backpack.

      He can't resist the urge to quietly walk to Mickey's bedroom. He raises his hand to push the cracked door open but freezes when he hears Mickey sobbing and whimpering in between shaky breathes. Ian sighs, painfully aware of how unwise it would be to interrupt; he also realizes the older boy deserves privacy at the very least.

      At the very most… Ian wishes he could give Mickey the world for what he's done.

      He reluctantly turns away from the Milkovich boy's bedroom and walks toward the front of the house, wiping away his tears before opening the front door.

    The sunlight looks surreal as Ian leaves the house; it mocks him.


End file.
